


Participation

by murdergatsby



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Purge (2013)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal, Dark Will, Dark Will Learning to be Dark Will, Evolving Feelings, Hannibal is Just Your Friendly Neighborhood Cannibal, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Deaths, Murder, Panic Attacks, Possessive Behavior, The Purge AU, Will has a big ol' crush on Hannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6885142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby/pseuds/murdergatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham has never participated in the annual purge. His neighbor, Hannibal Lecter, tries to show him the benefits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr. Graham

He had about 15 minutes to make the call. Hell, he had a good 30 if he could get over the aching fear of looking too desperate, sprinting over his front lawn and into that of his neighbor’s.

Will Graham always spent the night of the purge alone; he always spent it inside, safe to the best of his ability, and he often spent it awake. He had a pretty outstanding security system, including reinforced doors and windows, and a safety vault that once locked only opened at a preset time. His dogs were already inside said vault until 7:10am, seeing as they were the single thing of importance in his life and the single reason he dropped the $5,000 that is cost to install ventilation. In fact, he had created an exceptionally comfortable area down there for his dogs, an area that he could arguably spend the night in as well. However, he had found that too be too much on his mind.

His imagination only needed about an inch to go a mile and, even though the often violent events of March 21st very seldom made it to his street, every scratch and claw of nature against the siding of his home became a dark figure creeping in through his failing or hacked security system. His system was _outstanding_ but it still wasn’t _the best,_ and it always left him nervous.

Hannibal’s was the best, which wasn’t a term Will used exclusively for Hannibal’s security system. Hannibal had the best clothes and the best food, the best stories and the best conversation. Will didn’t consider himself to be anti-social, completely, but Hannibal was one of the few people he enjoyed the company of at all times of his day. He was the only person he allowed to surprise him, to just ‘drop on by’ for any previously unscheduled plans, and he was the only person Will found himself trusting in most circumstances.

Will liked to pretend as if this had nothing to do with the fact that he believed Hannibal’s face was hand painted by God himself.

Will had met Hannibal at a block party of sorts and disliked him almost instantly. Fate kept swinging them together however, by causing them to meet up at the bank and the post office. One day fate certainly had it out for Will and caused his dog sitter to cancel their stay only hours before they were needed for a three day trip. Hannibal was the only person willing and available to take on the responsibility of all seven of his dogs. After that, Will found himself wanting Hannibal in his life more and more. He started to crave his company.

Discovering his physical attraction had been just as gradual, something he liked to describe as _shy_. Hannibal was older than Will, and it showed on his face in ways that Will felt were “just right.” His hair was always well kept shades of silver and blonde, brushed from his face, and Will had only ever seen him dressed well. Classically.

If glasses were to be thrown on him he resembled the average librarian, but if Will thought about his _own_ glasses being thrown on him, his heart rate would rise just as fast as his body temperature.

What had started as casual, platonic interest had grown into a devious obsession. Will found himself thinking about Hannibal more often than not, and found himself gazing out his windows at the times he knew Hannibal would be around. He did try to stop himself from looking, but he was almost never successful.

Hannibal was friendly and anytime he saw Will looking through his window he’d take it upon himself to wave, and sometimes he invited himself over. He could stay around anywhere from 5 minutes to 3 hours, and it never made a difference. Will was always a nervous and slightly aroused wreck for the next few hours after Hannibal’s departure.

It didn’t help that Hannibal was flirtatious by nature, either. He twisted words into teasing compliments with the same ease he put into everything else. He was musical, intelligent, and always calm and smooth. His essence was romance just as much as it was passion. Often it seemed as if he were making an advance towards Will, but he never made it clear enough for Will to jump on it. Will could always argue that this was just the way he was, and that there wasn’t anything special about him that made Hannibal act that particular way.

However, not jumping was becoming agonizing. Will was tired of fantasizing. He needed to know what it was like to touch Hannibal, to kiss him. He needed to know what Hannibal was like in bed. He needed to know if Hannibal would throw him against a wall and hold him there, or if he would kiss him so softly that his mind would begin to unravel against his touch. He needed to be certain or his mind would never stop cycling through the messy, horrendous list of things Hannibal could do, might do, to him.

All of this obsessing boiled down to tonight. As previously stated, Will had never participated in the purge and never intended to. This was not a fact that had gone unnoticed by Hannibal.

That morning, while most of the street was out giving their systems a last minute test, Will discovered a single white envelope stuck in the window of his door. His name was written in faultless calligraphy on the back, Mr. Will Graham, and the card inside told of a dinner party for two that he was welcome to attend “if so inclined.”

The sight of his name in those skillfully formed letters frustrated him and made him wonder why it was that the universe felt the need to torture him in this way.

On the reverse, the card included a phone number and a time designated for Will call by- 6:50pm. Hannibal didn’t mind cutting it close to the deadline; he wanted to see him and he was willing to give him all the time he could.

_Mr. Will Graham._

It was now 6:40pm and Will sipped at an empty glass of whiskey as if the action of sipping would refill the glass on its own. His phone laid on the table before him with a dark screen, waiting for him to do something with it. Every fiber of his flesh pulled for it, wanting to dial the number he didn’t need Hannibal to write out on a card. He wanted to call him, he wanted to have dinner with him, and he wanted to spend the next 12 hours of his life locked in a home with Hannibal fucking Lecter.

Before his mind had time to convince him not to, again, Will was dialing the number and practicing what it was he would say. The phone was answered halfway through the third ring, catching Will off-guard and leaving him stuttering before he was even speaking.

“Hello, Will.” Hannibal said in his always soothing, even, and accent-laden voice.

Will had become a professional at holding back the need to audibly express how it was Hannibal’s voice made him feel. He made a mental note of how badly he would have liked to moan into the receiver, and then moved on with a simple “Hey.” Will paused, selecting his next words with gentle intent. “I hope it isn’t too late.”

“Is this about dinner?” Hannibal asked.

Will nodded from habit, despite Hannibal not being in the room. He quickly added “Yes,” hoping he didn’t come across as too nervous or scattered. He tried to remind himself that Hannibal already knew he was neurotic, and had still invited him to dinner.

“I told you when you needed to call by.” Hannibal said. Will could hear his voice perk up at the edges with his smile. He stalled as if he were checking his watch. “And by my time you still have 10 minutes, at least.”

Will smiled back at the curved voice. He didn’t remember when he had gotten up on his feet but he now found himself pacing the floor of his living room. “Great.” He said. “Should I uh, bring anything?”

“No.” Hannibal said. “Only what you want to have for the night; clothes to sleep in, perhaps.”

_So, nothing._ The voice in Will’s head sarcastically and suggestively hissed. He pulled on his own hair to silence his thoughts, just long enough for him to end the conversation. “Okay.” He breathed. He hoped the sound didn’t translate too obviously into Hannibal’s ears. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.” Hannibal mirrored. He hung up first and walked from his kitchen to his entry way. He could see into Will’s home from the window there. When Will still had his living room lights on he could see everything.

Now, he could see Will standing in the center of the room, cradling his phone with one hand while he tightly pulled his head back with the other. He was breathing heavy, from the falling of his chest that Hannibal could make out at this distance. He was trying to calm himself down from the phone call that Hannibal knew would fluster him just as much as the card.

Hannibal hoped this would not be the only time he’d witness Will trying to pull himself from panic tonight.


	2. Château Lafite-Rothschild 1970

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will works up the courage to make his move. Hannibal keeps his eye on the clock.

Will arrived at Hannibal’s home at exactly 6:50pm. He locked down his own walls and was greeted by a glass of wine at Hannibal’s doorstep.

This was his favorite time of day on Hannibal. He had abandoned most of the pieces of his day-wear, leaving him to be dressed in only a white dress shirt and grey suit pants that matched the vest and jacket he had been wearing earlier in the day.

This was the typical look Will caught him in between the hours of 5 and 9pm. It was the closest Hannibal got to casual, as far as Will could tell, and he was overjoyed to see him wearing that for their dinner together. Will himself was dressed in a red shirt and pants, as he would describe with the best of his ability. It was the same way he always dressed, only cleaner and sharper. He wanted to look nice for him. 

Hannibal beckoned Will to follow him inside with a lean of his head, as he began his own lockdown. Will stood in the entryway and tried to not be a nuisance. He had been in Hannibal’s home before, but he tried his best to avoid it. The home was dark, ornate, and had plenty of nooks for Will to add to his fantasies. He really hoped that he would be able to gather enough of his courage to do something about that on this night, but he was already having doubts.

Hannibal’s home closed down quietly. Iron gates dropped from the gutter and covered every side of his home. A sheet of steel came up behind each window, on the inside, as an extra precaution.

“My security can only be accessed from inside.” Hannibal explained. He walked back to where Will still stood and crowded him, leaving inches between the two of their bodies.

Will tried to calmly step back, but Hannibal just followed his footing until Will was pressed to the wall. His eyes felt wide. He gripped tightly at the body of his wine glass, not trusting his nervous hands to handle it by the stem.

Hannibal smiled, which was a wide and downward-curved smile that brought an absolute dance to his dark eyes. He leaned farther into Will’s personal space until his head was just above his shoulder.

“Excuse me.” He said, his voice just above a whisper.

Will rolled his eyes at himself. It was obvious to him now that Hannibal just wanted to get to something behind him on the wall; the same something he could clearly make out, pressing its shape into his back. Normally Will would shift aside with an uncomfortable smile, but tonight he had an agenda. He took the opportunity to use the only shred of courage he had to lift his body from the wall, pushing it into Hannibal’s.

He hoped that this action would either be well received, or brushed off with the thought of “Awkward, uncomfortable Will is at it again.”

The only reaction he was given was the complete absence of one. Hannibal reached behind him, his arm slipping between Will’s own, and pressed some buttons on an unseen panel. It was as if Will’s motion had left him completely unaffected- something that equally excited and upset Will.

Will could hear the buttons tick digitally against Hannibal’s fingertips and then beep loudly as a sound of success. Then, Hannibal stepped away as emotionless as he had stepped in. Will followed him, sullenly, through his pristine kitchen and into his living room.

Hannibal had a leather couch and matching chairs, a dark wood coffee table dressed with a light green fern, and a formidable television showing the countdown to the night’s festivities.

It was now 6:55pm.

Usually, Will would find himself pestered by fear until it completely consumed him. At this time, he’d be double checking every inch of his home. He would be pacing, deep breathing, and trying to trick himself into drinking his fears away. However, at this moment he felt no need for any of that.

This wasn’t of any surprise to him. Hannibal always had brought that effect to him; calming him when he certainly felt no need to be calm. Raw sexual need aside, Hannibal was someone Will trusted. Hannibal was someone he felt safe with.

It was this string of thoughts that were crossing his mind when Hannibal gestured at the television and asked, “Does it upset you to have that on?”

It was this string of thoughts that lead Will to say “I feel safe with you.” As a response.

Hannibal smiled again, eyes sparkling at Will’s obvious embarrassment of the betrayal of his mouth. Will wasn’t blushing or cringing, but the slight crinkle of his eyes was something Hannibal had worked to identity over the time they’d known each other.

“I’m glad that you do.” Hannibal said before sitting at the far end of the couch.

Will followed his lead and sat on the same couch, at the opposite end. The couch only had one cushion, spanning its entire length. There was only the space for an arm to separate them. Will swirled the wine in his glass but didn’t drink any. He needed to plot out his next move.

“What’s for dinner?” Will asked, innocently trying to lead a conversation somewhere, anywhere, so that he may become inspired to do something crazy.

Hannibal laughed. His laugh was always placed low in his throat, like a hum. It felt like honey on Will’s skin.

“You never ask.” Hannibal replied. The same smirk from earlier still lingered on his lips but his eyes were flat. “It spoils the surprise.”

Will smiled and laughed, but he didn’t know why. Nerves, maybe.

“In the five years I’ve known you, you have never participated in the purge.” Hannibal said after a pause that was nowhere near long enough for a subject change.

His words felt abrupt to Will. The question took him by surprise and he felt himself jump. He looked to Hannibal but didn’t speak.

“Is that correct?” Hannibal added. He was still smirking. He still felt casual.

Will nodded. “Yes.” He tried to smile back but it didn’t feel honest. “I find it to be distasteful. Those that participate are…” He tried to search for the right word to fit how he felt. It wasn’t often he had a chance to express his feelings on such a subject, and he certainly had his opinions. “Savages.” He finally decided on. “I feel we’ve evolved beyond indulging in such activities. It repulses me to see humans acting this way.”

Hannibal nodded with acceptance but not necessarily agreement.

Will sipped his wine.

“I’ve participated.” Hannibal said, deliberately catching Will mid-drink.

Will nearly spit his wine back into his glass. “I,” He stammered. He lowered his glass and placing it on the coffee table. “I didn’t mean to, offend you.”

“You didn’t.” Hannibal was still calm, _still smirking_ , still looking at Will as if he were the most important thing going on in the entire universe. “I just wanted to be honest with you.”    

Will nodded, trying to not let his mind spin around this new information.

“Does that change your opinion of me?” Hannibal asked. There was definitely a change in the mood of the room but it didn’t seem to bother Hannibal all that much. 

Will shook his head. “No.”

And that was true. It wasn’t as if it was rare to participate, or taboo. In fact, to not participate was much more taboo. It wouldn’t be anywhere near fair for him to pass judgment, especially not on Hannibal. He didn’t think there was a part of him that could pass a form of negative judgment on Hannibal.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Good.” Hannibal took a full sip of his own wine, then placed his glass besides Will’s. He looked at the two, side by side, for a long time before leaning back to his previous position on the couch. His left leg crossed over his knee and his hands folded in his lap.

Will’s legs were set apart, and elbow on each knee, as his hands propped his head. He found himself lost in thought again.

“You can ask.” Hannibal said, breaking the silence Will’s concentration was creating. “It’s alright if you do.”

Will parted his lips in preparation of asking what Hannibal meant by that, but he knew. It was definitely impolite to ask another what it was they did or do during the purge. Activities could be anything from petty theft, which was really only possible in quiet neighborhoods like this one, to things much more sinister.

Hannibal didn’t seem like the type for petty theft.

“How did you…participate?” Will asked, tentatively. Even with his permission, it felt imposing to ask. He wanted to take the question back as soon as it left his lips.

Hannibal leaned even farther back into the couch cushions, thinking of the best way to phrase his answer for Will’s reception. “Over the year, I would collect information and keep tabs on those that I didn’t…” His voice drifted off as he turned his gaze to the corner of the room. It seemed as if he had hidden the answers there. “Those that I didn’t think deserved to be around in the next year.”

Will felt a lump form in his throat. Hannibal spoke so casually, the implication almost went over his head.  

“You killed them?” The words came from Will’s mouth suddenly like a choke for breath.

Hannibal nodded, maintaining calmness. “And ate them.”  

For a long, terrorizing moment the two of them just stared at each other in silence. That was, until Hannibal laughed. Then they both laughed as if Hannibal’s had been a viral contagion. It wasn’t unlike Hannibal to make jokes like that, of that kind and morbidity. Will was usually more sensitive to them, aware of them. He left it up to the intensity and stuffiness of the night.

It was now 6:58pm.

Hannibal moved in closer to Will on the couch, after their laughter had died down and rocked them into a much more comfortable kind of silence. He moved in until their thighs were touching.

For the first time in the span of the night, Will stumbled upon the idea that he might not be the only one plotting. He turned to face Hannibal, slowly, and caught his eyes following a line from his cheek to his ear, to his neck. Will allowed himself to take the same gaze, tracing the lines of Hannibal’s jaw. He took in the way his throat moved when he swallowed and the way his chest rose and fell with every cautious breath.

“I want to be clear about why I invited you here tonight.” Hannibal said, drawing Will’s attention back up to his face. He put his arm up on the head rest of the couch, letting his hand gently cup at the back of Will’s hair. The curls weaved independently through his fingers. Will wanted Hannibal wanted to knot them up in his knuckles.

Will’s eyes bounced between getting lost in Hannibal’s to tracing the curves of Hannibal’s bottom lip. He closed the distance between their faces carefully, waiting for Hannibal to speak more or pull away. He only hesitated when he could feel the hairs of his lip brush against Hannibal’s skin.

“I think I know.” Will said. The movement his lips made as he spoke into Hannibal’s mouth closed the rest of the distance for him. His lips closed over Hannibal’s, enticing a small gasp from one of them before their respective mouths took each other in.

Hannibal’s free hand practically jumped from its place at his side and found comfort on the inside of Will’s thigh. His other hand seemed to behave, only gently toying with the ends of Will’s hair as he let him kiss him.

Although this wasn’t what Hannibal was moving in for, it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. It was actually quite pleasant; especially when Will stopped nervously clenching his hands into fists and found places to keep them on Hannibal’s body. One found his waist and the other rested against his collarbone, his thumb and index finger rolling against the fabric of his shirt collar.

Hannibal didn’t do anything different, but he felt something change inside of Will’s behavior. Will tugged on his collar and squeezed at his side to pull him in closer. He moaned against his mouth and lifted his legs from the floor. He was trying to push himself under Hannibal, and Hannibal happily conformed.

Hannibal finally got to grab a fistful of Will’s hair and pull his head back, while guiding him to lay back flat on the couch. Hannibal manipulated his body until he was straddling Will’s hips. He pulled away from their kiss and tugged tighter on Will’s hair, watching him wince and feeling his hips writhe beneath him, before placing his lips on him again.

Instead of Will’s lips, Hannibal found the base of Will’s jaw; he pulled his flesh into his mouth and rolled it against his teeth. Will accompanied this action with a whine, a sound Hannibal could feel vibrating within him before it became audible. 

For a moment, with the taste of Will’s skin in his mouth and his body caged beneath his legs, Hannibal considered changing his motive for the night. _This could wait another year._ He thought. He had done ages of preparation to allow for this night to happen; ages of work he really didn’t wish to strain over again in hopes at another chance like this. Still, the decision to stay on this path of the night was more than tempting.

It was now 7:00pm.

Suddenly, an alert sound came from the speakers of the television, informing those within ear shot that the purge had begun. A sharp stab of panic entered through the back of Will’s head and was instantly calmed by a sharp tug at his hair.

Hannibal was kissing down his neck and on to his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He groaned in what Will read as enjoyment rather than frustration, as Hannibal began to fumble for something under the couch cushion. Will closed his eyes and raised his hips into Hannibal as far as their bodies would allow. He ground against him in need, in impatience. Hannibal was still kissing at his skin, still pulling on his hair. 

The soothing but artificial woman’s voice on the television explained what was going to happen tonight; that all crime was legal and that all emergency services would be unavailable until 7:00am the next morning.

Hannibal’s hand that has been searching beneath the couch came back to Will’s body, pressing against the small of his back while clutching to something hard and cold.

“Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn.” The television voice sanctified while Will racked his mind against what the object could be.

It moved up his back with Hannibal’s hand in slow strokes, until Hannibal pulled it from him and reintroduced it to the same place on his neck he had just been so delicately sucking on.

It was a knife, cold and sharp.

Hannibal sat upright, putting all of his weight on Will’s hips so that Will was confident he couldn’t get up without Hannibal’s permission. The hand that had always been in Will’s hair stayed put. It pulled tighter and rougher now, causing Will’s now-stuck-open eyes to water.

Hannibal’s gaze down at Will was dark, beyond sinister. It hit Will like a fist to the chest.

“May God be with you all.”


	3. Mr. Hobbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal shows Will his secrets and reveals his plan for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel it necessary to mention that this chapter is rather emotionally violent. Hannibal isn't getting a lot of nice guy points this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy❤︎

“No.” Will cried. His voice was too soft for him to feel as it left his throat. His body sank into the couch with defeat instantly. He wanted to fight _, but where would I go_?

_How could I be so stupid?_ He thought. He ran through his memory of Hannibal’s every action that night, from him _clearly_ _distracting_ him from seeing the security code on the wall panel, to blocking his body out on the couch. What Will had been using as a means opportunities for seduction were all just precautions put in place to keep him vulnerable- to keep him overpowered.

Will had walked right into the arms of a killer on the very night it was okay to be one.

“No, no, no.” Will repeated, over and over. He shook his head with every syllable. His eyes filled with tears, collecting against his eye lids until he could hardly see. They made his eyes look like they were coated in glass, and Hannibal loved it.

Hannibal nodded ‘yes’ as a kind of response to Will’s begging. He twisted the knife on Will’s neck just enough for the blade to knick against him. He wanted Will to know how sharp the knife was but he didn’t want to cut him.

Will gasped, not from pain but from a continuation of surprise. “Please.” He cried. “Please, Hannibal. Please, don’t do this.” He wondered if the walls were sound proof. He wondered that if he screamed enough his neighbors would hear. _Not that they would do anything…_

“Take a deep breath, Will.” Hannibal instructed. His eyes had softened a bit, but not by much. He looked down at Will like he was prey; scanning him for every action that might be, every feeling that might lead to aggression.

At this moment Will was very much prey in Hannibal’s eyes. Will was scared, caught by surprise, and flustered. From the way Hannibal was sitting on him he could tell he was still hard, too, which pleased him; that was embarrassing for Will, and Hannibal knew that.

Embarrassment made Will feel weak but, even with this prey-persona painted for him, Hannibal had never thought of Will as _weak_. He had always seen something more to him, lurking under the surface. Tonight was going to be all about exposing those pieces of himself. Will was never going to be prey again.

Will’s lung shook as he inhaled sharply, trying to breathe deeply as instructed. His jittery heart began to relax but went back to beating around his chest like a jackhammer as soon as his lungs were emptied.

“Please don’t hurt me.” He pled. His voice surprised him this time by leaving his lips calmly, clearly. Nothing about him felt calm or clear.

“I have no intention of harming you tonight, Will.” Hannibal replied. “I promise you that.”

Will whined, trying to pull himself away from Hannibal: away from the knife, away from the couch, away from the situation. He sunk deep into the cushions and heard the springs creak under his weight.

“I just needed to make sure you would listen.” Hannibal kept the knife to Will’s throat as he moved from Will’s lap and back onto his feet. When he was situated, he offered a hand to Will with a smile that was identical to his real smile. “I need you to listen to me.”

Will didn’t have any proof that it was fake, but he wanted it so badly for his smile to be fake. He didn’t want to know Hannibal like this. He didn’t want this to be the last memory his mind held. Aside from the fear that chopped through his body like the strings of a harp, Will was overwhelmed with a feeling of betrayal.

Cautiously, the body that had been trying so desperately to disappear took Hannibal’s hand and allowed him to help him to his feet. As he stood, Will felt like he were floating above the room.

Hannibal moved around Will, so that he was behind him with an arm around his waist. His other hand still held the knife and curved it back into the same spot on his neck. He had full control over Will’s body this way, as he led him from the living room and back into the kitchen. He walked him to the pantry door.

“Open the door, Will.” Hannibal said, resting his head in the curve of Will’s neck as he spoke.

Will tried to reach for the knob but his body wouldn’t let him. Panic crawled into him, rooting deeply in his bones. He wanted to apologize for not being able to move. He didn’t want Hannibal to be mad, he didn’t want to give Hannibal any reason to punish him. He couldn’t make his words come out.

The arm Hannibal had over Will’s waist tightened against him, as if Hannibal were embracing him. “Take a deep breath.” He reminded, whispering the words into Will’s ear as he lets his lips brush against his skin. He let go of Will’s waist and twisted the knob himself. When the door was open, his arm returned to its previous place. He felt Will push against him as if he missed his touch, something Will hadn’t realized he’d done.

Will’s eyes darted to the floor of the pantry, or rather the lack thereof; the floor of the pantry had been made of a door, that was now pulled up and exposing a flight of clean cement stairs. Will gasped quietly and Hannibal turned his smile into his neck again.

“Go.” Hannibal instructed, gently tapping the backs of Will’s heels with the tip of his shoe.

The two of them descended into what a felt like a basement. It was all concrete and dark, and smelled unused and dusty. They reached the base of the stairs and stopped.

“There’s a light switch on the right wall.” Hannibal said. This time his words came across as a suggestion rather than a command.

Because of this, Will was able to remove one of his stiff limbs from his side and reach for the wall. He found and switched on the lights. One by one, bright florescent blubs flickered on and brought the hallway in front of him to life. There were doors on either side of him that his mind wouldn’t let him count, but there were _a lot._ The hallway seemed to go on forever, ending in darkness rather than on a concrete wall.

He wondered what all the doors lead to, but he hoped he would never have to see. He felt his body begin to shake again.

“Hannibal?” Will cried, his head dropping as his body threatened to give out beneath him.

“It’s alright.” Hannibal replied. “I know you’re scared right now, but you won’t have to be for long.”

The words brought little comfort to Will, but Hannibal’s embrace was leading him into a familiar sense of numbness that often came with his panic.

Hannibal directed Will to the closest door on their left. He again asked for Will to open the door, and this time Will was able to do it. The room on the other side only had a single light in it, hanging from the ceiling above a metal chair. The sight made Will sob violently, fear returning to him in a cold wave.

“I’m sorry.” Will gasped, trying to turn and look at Hannibal as he was lead to the chair.   

“What are you sorry about, Will?” Hannibal asked as he sat Will down in it, disallowing Will much movement out of what he wanted. He knelt in front of him and picked up two unused zip-ties up from the floor. He laced them around each of Will’s respective ankles, binding him to the chair legs. They weren’t tight enough to cause Will any psychical discomfort, but Will wasn’t going to be able to wiggle free from them anytime soon.

Will’s lungs contacted rapidly. A new fear snagged him, of being unable to catch his breath. He didn’t want to black out, he didn’t want to be unconscious in this room. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“For watching you.” He stammered, teeth knocking against each other as if he were cold. His whole body was trembling. “For _stalking_ you.” He corrected, thinking of how intrusive he had always been: staring from across the street, memorizing his daily schedule just so he could see him- inappropriate. Will knew that behavior was disgusting, and how he was being punished for never putting an end to it. “And for how I acted upstairs. I didn’t mean anything by it, I just-”

Hannibal laughed to himself and got back to his feet. He rested a reassuring hand on Will’s shoulder. “Take a deep breath.”

Will shook his head wildly. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can.” Hannibal assured. “Inhale slowly, exhale the same way.”

It was a gradual calming method, but Hannibal had the time. He slipped his hand down to Will’s chest and continued to apply his gentle pressure until Will’s tears simmered back down to a quiet sniffle. He could feel his heart through the feverish skin of Will’s chest.

“Atta boy.” Hannibal cooed before talking his palm off of Will’s body. He moved on to buttoning up Will’s shirt. “I’ve always found your fixation with me to be flattering, Will.” He said, only pausing to review the dark sucker marks he had left on Will’s neck. He forced himself to not run his fingers along them while he closed the top button. “You don’t need to be sorry about that.”

He patted Will on the shoulder before moving on, wandering to one of the darkened corners of the room. Will could barely make out the shape of the workbench Hannibal was pawing at, much less what he was retrieving and tucking behind his back.

Hannibal was still so externally calm. He was acting as if this situation was normal, and that bothered Will almost more than the approaching concept of his death. He couldn’t believe how much trust he had put into this man, how much adoration and desire. Even now, he wanted nothing more than reassurance from the very man that was putting him under all this stress. He missed having Hannibal’s hand on his chest.

“Well, I must need to be sorry for something.” Will gasped, finally. His voice was shallow, but calm. He was easy to understand.

Hannibal didn’t respond right away. He reproached the chair, carrying a rope, and positioned himself behind Will and couched. He laced the rope beneath Will’s arms, binding his back to the chair. Will tried to fight it at first, pushing away Hannibal’s wrists and whining high in his throat for him to stop. Hannibal was strong though, and no amount of Will’s desperation could bring him enough strength to fully shove him away.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Will.” Hannibal said. He stayed close the ground, but leaned in so that Will could see him. He looked into his eyes and enjoyed the way Will’s tried to dart away from him. His pupils would flee around the room, but they’d always settle back to looking into Hannibal’s eyes, and jumping as if it hurt them to do so.

“I have participated in the purge since I was 14. I benefit from it, like millions of others.” Hannibal explained.

_Fourteen._ Will cried in his head. His mind juggled the memory of Hannibal upstairs, sharing with him a process he had tried to dismiss as a joke. It was a warning and he had ignored it just as Hannibal had hoped for.

“Are you-” He stammered, his voice getting caught in the back of his throat as if it were sticky. “Are you going to eat me?”

Hannibal chuckled at Will’s expense and shook his head. “No. I really did want to have you over for dinner tonight.” He clarified. He reached up and cupped Will’s cheek, which he flinched from at first but then relaxed into.

Everything was coming together exactly the way Hannibal wanted it to. Will’s arms were unbound, but he wasn’t taking any swings. He wasn’t screaming. And just as Hannibal had hoped, Will still had trust in him. Even though his mind was racing around every bad scenario he could fabricate, he still found comfort in Hannibal’s touch. That was important to Hannibal.

“I still do.” Hannibal continued. His thumb traced the bone under Will’s cheek, feeling the moist tears and sweat that were pushing through his skin. “But we have to get this done with first.”

Hannibal got back to his feet suddenly, and again walked into the dark.

“It is my belief that you will, too, benefit from participation.” He said while he was still out of view. Will could hear the sounds of wheels rolling and sticking to the concrete floor, and he felt his chest tighten past the point of discomfort.

Into the light, Hannibal pushed a man slumped in a wheel chair. He was unconscious, and leaving a trail of drool on his own shoulder and chest. He was dressed similarly to Will, on the classy end of casual with a beige button-up shirt tucked into dark brown slacks. Other than the drool, he looked rather collected and put together. Will wondered how Hannibal had driven him into unconsciousness before he wondered who the man was.

Hannibal parked the wheels, locking them in place with a kick to the proper switch. He walked over to Will yet again and Will felt himself pull into the chair, sitting upright and tensing his body. Hannibal reached behind himself and pulled out a small hand gun. Will laughed.

The laugher came from somewhere deep and conflicted. It tasted of disbelief and once it started he couldn’t seem to stop.

Hannibal smiled at him, genuinely. He’d witness so much from Will tonight: the tears, the fear, the begging…and now the joyful insanity of hysteria as his mind wrapped around what it was that Hannibal was purposing.    

Will pressed his hand to his mouth to shut himself up, and muttered over his fingers. “You want me to kill him?” He almost sounded relieved.

“Yes.” Hannibal answered, a cheerful chuckle breaking over his own tongue. He knew that Will would figure it out on his own, he knew Will was smart enough. He found himself filled with pride regardless, so pleased to hear the words actually spill from Will’s lips.

Will laughed a little while longer, letting the gun grow heavy in Hannibal’s hand. When Hannibal had experienced enough waiting and gazing at Will’s frenetic face, he took Will’s hand in his own and uncurled his fingers for him. He rested the gun in his palm, and then moved on to zip-tie down Will’s non-dominant hand.

Will snapped his hands back into his body, and let the gun clatter to the floor. He stopped laughing and locked his teeth together as if that may actually contribute to letting him keep his hands.

“Will.” Hannibal said in the way you may scold a puppy for asking to get up on the couch too many times- It wasn’t hostile, just a quiet reminder that resistance was pointless. Hannibal crouched in front of him and grabbed Will’s wrist again and brought it down against the arm of the chair.

Will squirmed and his arm was tense, but trying to fight brought too much of the fear back. It reminded of how trapped he was. It proved to be easier to just let it happen.

When he was tied down, Hannibal reached to the floor and placed the gun back in Will’s hand. “Hold it.” He instructed.

“I don’t want to kill him.” Will whimpered, leaving his palm flat.

“Hold it.” Hannibal repeated.

Will sobbed a single time, then wrapped his fingers around the black metal.

When Will’s fingers curled themselves around the gun, Hannibal reached up to brush his cheek again. This time he used the back of his hand.

Will still did not pull away or flinch, he just felt.

“You don’t have to.” Hannibal said. He watched as his words opened up a single beam of hope within Will’s eyes. “You’re free to leave if you wish.” He added, knowing the beam wouldn’t stay there for long.

Will’s lips turned hard into a frown. His entire face contorted as if he were in physical pain. “You know I can’t _leave_.”

Hannibal seemed to pick up Will’s discomfort, his own lips turning downward in a very slight way. Still, he didn’t look all that bothered by the situation. He was more bothered that Will wasn’t jumping on it yet, but he knew that was an unrealistic expectation to have. In fact, he knew he would be more disappointed in the situation if Will did jump on it. Those that jump at the opportunity to kill, from Hannibal’s experience, always turned out too uncontainable and irresponsible. _Killing should always be done responsibly._

Hannibal removed his fingers from Will’s face and stood back to his feet. He walked to where the man was kept and began to minimally correct his posture: sitting his shoulders back, lifting his head from so that it tipped over the back of the wheel chair. He combed through his mind, calmly searching for the words he thought would help convince Will.

“Would it help you to know what it is this man does with his night?”

Will stayed silent, unmoving.

Hannibal nodded to himself, taking Will’s silence as an approval of continuing on. “For the past eight years,” He began. “Mr. Hobbs has tracked and killed young girls that resemble his own daughter. All under 18. He then eats them, similarly to myself.”

Hannibal paused and scanned Will’s face for a reaction. Will’s lips tripped into a sorrowful frown, much different from the panic induced one that had been consuming his expression.

When Hannibal was convinced and satisfied that he had broken through to Will, he continued.

“In confidence, he told me that his plan this year involved actually killing his own daughter.”

This time, Will gasped. The sound was again similar to agony. “That’s awful.”

Will didn’t want to give the words to Hannibal, but his mind was so far past exhaustion to be able to stop himself. Part of him knew this is what Hannibal was counting on, him being too exhausted to think clearly. He had to use his remaining effort to fight it.

Will shook his head. “But so is this, what you’re doing to me. This is awful.”

Again, Hannibal returned to Will’s side. He rested a hand on his shoulder the same way as he had before. The touch brought a clenching calmness to Will’s chest all over again.

“Hannibal, please. Don’t do this.” Will whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe he’d wake up, and this would all be an anxiety fueled dream.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Will.” Hannibal repeated.

Will shook his head, letting it fall back over the headrest of the chair. “I don’t want to do this.” He begged.

Hannibal watched his tight Adam’s apple bob in his throat more than he listened to the words he created.

“You don’t have to.” Hannibal said, again. He didn’t tire of repeating himself when it was needed. He would stay by Will’s side all night if the plans he had allotted for it, reassuring him. “I’ll be down to check on you in an hour.”

Hannibal removed his hand from Will’s shoulder, and Will whined along with its absence. He hated that he wanted Hannibal to stay. He was the one that put him here, but he was also his only chance of getting out.

Hannibal ignored Will’s gasp for more attention, and walked himself to the door. Just before turning the handle he paused, looking back over his shoulder at his design.  

“Although, I should mention,” He said. “That you are restrained. Mr. Hobbs is not.”

Will snapped his attention at the other man in the chair. His wrists were free, as were his ankles and waist.

“And despite not having any reason to harm you, I can’t promise that he won’t.” Hannibal continued to speak before Will had the time to respond. “The wheelchair is only for my benefit of his transport.”

Will brought his attention back to Hannibal, jaw stuck open in a shock didn’t know he was still capable of feeling. “You’re going to let him kill me?”

Hannibal frowned and shook his head. “Of course not, Will.” He said. He gestured to Will with his chin, and brought a smirk back to his face. “I gave you a gun.”

“Hannibal,” Will practically screamed, louder and rawer than he had felt the power to all night. “Please.”

Hannibal continued to smile as he left the room. “Good luck, Will.” He praised. He knew Will didn’t need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter update than I'm used to writing, so sorry for the wait! I don't think the other chapters will end up being this long, or have this long of a wait between updates. :) Hope I still have your attention.


	4. (Just) Chicken Noodle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Apologize? You made me kill someone, and you want to say ‘sorry?’”_   
>  _“Only if you did not enjoy it. Did you enjoy it, Will?”_

The first gunshot had broken through the peace of his home much sooner than what Hannibal had anticipated. He had been reading a book to pass the time, waiting for his meal to finish cooking and his project to come to a close; he had hardly been able to make it to his checking point.

He spent some time watching the pantry door and listening for the sound of a struggle, before standing and walking to it. On his way down, he listened for anything: Crying, screaming, begging- but there was nothing. The silence projected the image of Will, sitting tall in his chair while gripping his gun. _He may even be smiling._

Thinking about Will choosing his own life over that of Mr. Hobbs’ filled Hannibal with a hot pride, one that surged through his body like the burn of properly aged scotch. To do that, Will would have had to understood that his life was _worth more_ than Mr. Hobbs’ life- something Hannibal had doubted Will could conclude before this time.

He hoped Will was as proud of himself as he was.

However, before he was able to truly celebrate, the stillness was broken seven more times by seven more gun shots.

 _Will could have missed with his first shot,_ He thought. _And Mr. Hobbs could have gotten the upper hand._

For the first time that night, Hannibal had felt true worry for Will. That wasn’t _supposed_ to happen- Will wasn’t supposed to lose or get hurt, but it wasn’t the first time Hannibal had found himself disappointed in his projects.

The time was now 8:15pm.

Hannibal only cracked the door enough to peak through it. The room reeked of gunpowder and blood; it covered, completely, the perfume of fear that Hannibal had left in his wake. He had assumed Will would call for him upon realizing the door had been opened, but there was still not an organic sound to be heard. The air continued to be painfully still, so he called to Will instead.

“Will?”

Cautiously, he stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself. He could see Will in his chair, but he made no motion that implied life. Hannibal let his eyes carry to the other seat in the room, where he had left Mr. Hobbs, to find him laying a similar position to how he had been left. Only now, his expression was split with a bullet wound. His chest held seven more holes, consistent with the shots Hannibal had heard. Hannibal allowed himself a sigh of relief.

He reached Will’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder, just as he had before. Will didn’t jump like it surprised him, or flinch away.

“What happened?” Hannibal asked. The blood on the man’s body dripped, but only due to the power of gravity. Mr. Hobbs was dead.

“He stirred.” Will answered. His tone was flat and seemed to be summoned from the very base of his chest- low and gravely.

Hannibal rubbed his thumb along the bone of Will’s shoulder. “Are you alright?” He asked.

Will said nothing, but Hannibal felt a slight tense in the muscles where he held him. It could have been a shrug.

Keeping his hand there for as long as he could, Hannibal walked around to face Will. He dropped to a crouch and removed a small knife from his pocket, and started to cut away at the zip-ties that restrained Will’s ankles. He felt Will’s tense body tense.  

Looking back up to Will’s face, Hannibal was met with the end of the gun.

Will’s expression was stern- Hannibal could tell his teeth were clenched beneath his strained lips. Hannibal knew the gun was empty, but he wondered if Will would pull the trigger anyway. He wondered if Will knew the gun was empty.

Hannibal waited, with his hands by Will’s ankles. He made no move to push him away.

After a moment, Will dropped the gun back to his lap and hung his head. Hannibal smiled to himself and got back to freeing him.

“You did so well, Will.”

\--

Hannibal had to help Will back up to his feet, and back up the main of the house. His knees felt weak and wobbly, and having Hannibal’s arm around his ribs was comforting. He had to stop himself from thanking Hannibal as he gently guided him back to a place that felt safer.

_But I’m not really safe, am I?_

Hannibal left Will in the dining room, giving him his own chair and scooting it in behind him before disappearing in to his kitchen. When he returned the table with two bowls of soup, Will was right where he’d left him. He looked angry, but that was alright.

Steam wisped from the center of the bowl, stemming from the soup’s surface. The steam followed the waves of Hannibal’s movements as he brought the ceramic to meet with the charger in front of him. Will turned to face the bowl with a motion that felt robotic.

“You’re really feeding me dinner.” Will said, the sound of his own voice bringing a tenseness to his throat. His words felt like vomit.

“I have already explained to you what my intentions were tonight, Will.” Hannibal said, peacefully, before venturing to the opposite side of the table and taking his own seat.

Will’s eyes moved from the silverware Hannibal provided for him, to the thick gold of the soup. He eyed the white, torn chunks of meat, bobbing to the surface and blossoming with broth. Hannibal knew what question was teasing at the edges of his mind.

“The chicken is honest, I assure you.” He interjected, before Will had to ask it himself.

Will’s eyes raised with hesitation. He looked so tired and washed out. Hannibal’s heart felt suddenly ignited.

“I understand that my tastes don’t agree with every pallet.” Hannibal added, nodding and lifting his hands as if to coax Will into lifting his own utensils.

It took Will a moment to believe him, but he did, carefully, pick up his spoon and raise a small amount of liquid to his lips. After tasting it, he brought his spoon back down and rested it against the charger.

Hannibal watched him for a while, with a smile as warm and wide as Will remembered him being, before beginning his own meal. It was okay that Will wasn’t eating, even though Hannibal would prefer it if he would.

“Did you guys meet in cannibals anonymous, or something?” Will said, suddenly, with a venom that seemed corporeal.

Hannibal stopped eating, stopped smiling, and just blinked at him.

“Always so quick, with that mouth of yours.” He observed. He sounded hostile, for just a moment, squinting his eyes in Will’s direction. However, he didn’t feel hostile. “It’s always something I’ve appreciated about you, Will. The way you bite.”

Will’s eyes were locked with his. His jaw and neck tight enough to expose his veins.

“You only let people push you so far before you push back.” Hannibal added. He looked Will up and down, then sighed with a note that sounded like bliss. Will wasn’t usually one for eye-contact. Hannibal couldn’t _be_ more proud of his work.

Will winced. “Is that what you were doing?” He asked. “Seeing how far you could push me?”

Hannibal didn’t answer, and continued back to his meal.

 “Why me, Hannibal?” Will added after a beat of his heart. He sounded close to breaking. He wasn’t actively crying, but Hannibal could sense the waves coming on again. His tears were likely boarded up just beneath his eyelids.

“I already told you.” Hannibal said, calmly. He placed his spoon down and wiped at his mouth with the cloth napkin he had placed on his lap. “I thought you would enjoy killing Mr. Hobbs.”

Will scoffed. “ _Why?_ ” He spoke, quietly and mostly to himself. His eyes lowered to his lap, he was starting to cave in. He wanted to fall to the floor and lay there, try and wake up from this disgusting nightmare he was trapped in.

“I will apologize if that’s not the case.” Hannibal added, turning his head as if to better see where Will had dropped his expression.

 “Apologize?” Will repeated, stressed and weak in tone. “You made me kill someone, and you want to say ‘ _sorry_?’”

Hannibal paused, mulling over his options. “Only if you did not enjoy it.” He said, speaking from his heart. If he had, truly, misread Will all these years and put him in this position due to a miscalculation in what Will had lurking under his skin, then he would apologize. He would feel true regret.

He knew that wasn’t the case.

“Did you enjoy it, Will?” He asked.

“How _could_ anyone?” Will snapped. There was something in Will’s voice, though, that made his words sound judgmental. They were _inward_ and judgmental.

He wasn’t _really_ asking _how anyone could_ enjoy killing. He already knew.

Hannibal hummed to himself as if he were satisfied with their exchange, but did not apologize. He went back to his meal, filling the room with the gentle nicks of his soup spoon against the ceramic of the bowl.

“If you didn’t enjoy it,” Hannibal began again, between modest mouthfuls. “What did it feel like?”

Will winced again, and opened his mouth as if he had an answer. He then closed his mouth and shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Hannibal nodded but had no intention of letting the topic go again. “Killing has always felt good to me, so I just want to know what it’s like to feel something different.” Hannibal expanded, smudging his intentions.

Will refused to answer and just shook his head from side to side.

“Did it put you at ease?” Hannibal asked. “With Hobbs dead, he could no longer hurt you.”

“Hannibal, please.” Will sobbed. He was still tearless, but the pressure of this _one simple question_ was eating at him.

“Was is just a relief to you, that left you under shock and guilt?” Hannibal continued. Then, with a smile, he added, “Or did it just feel _good_?”

Will’s eyes shied away from the word “good.” Heat rose to his face as he turned his whole body inward. Hannibal knew he had won, and that he had been right. Will’s cover was blown. The pride he had been wearing for Will all night resonated off him like a sun flare. It nearly brought him to tears, himself.

Again, Hannibal hummed to himself. He lifted his spoon, and followed the same motion he had earlier in the night- moving his hands and watching Will, trying to suggest that he do the same.

“Eat your soup.”


End file.
